


chance encounter

by tatiana_romanoff



Series: freaks of nature [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hunters & Hunting, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 01, the winchesters are in it now!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26395516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatiana_romanoff/pseuds/tatiana_romanoff
Summary: It's safe to say that Winona is going to look twice the next time she's searching for a good time.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Original Female Character(s), Original Character & Original Character, Sam Winchester & Original Female Character(s)
Series: freaks of nature [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918135





	chance encounter

**Author's Note:**

> im vibing and have class in two minutes lmao

When Winona Cassidy was thirteen, she developed an insurance policy.

The insurance policy wasn't as literal as her high school guidance counselor would've preferred it to be—to him, it meant having a back-up alternative to college, or whatever.

(Winona told Mr. Rakowski that she was going straight into the workforce, which wasn't technically a _lie._ She still probably just should've told him to fuck off.)

Instead of cash, or a "job,” Winona's insurance policy came in the form of a shotgun she swiped from her dad's weapon stash (when he wasn't looking.) It was the first time she'd touched the firearms without his permission, and definitely the first time she'd had to hide something from him deliberately.

_Shoot first, ask questions later:_ a fuckin’ _good_ strategy, if she did say so herself.

At motels, Winona hid it under her bed. When she left to hunt on her own, she leaned it against the nightstand or left it in the backseat, so it was still in easy reach. Now that she's twenty-two (a far cry from thirteen), the shotgun is securely placed in Blue's trunk.

Winona's never seen the need for a different insurance policy besides that one—that hasn't changed, even though Eva is hunting with her again (no matter how temporarily.)

At the moment, her sister's been rifling through George's old contacts for hours. Judging by her lack of excitement, the search has produced nothing useful. The sleeve of her leather jacket rides up slightly when she turns a page, and Winona catches a glimpse of a spiral tattoo.

"Find anything?" Her eyes flick to the rearview mirror and back to the road, but there's no change behind or in front of them. Of course, they'd end up in the corner of Bumfuck, Nebraska that has no diners, motels, gas stations, or other cars, within a ten mile radius.

"No,” Eva grouches. She closes the notebook and tosses it onto the backseat, kneading her knuckles against her forehead. There are bags under her eyes, and Winona knows she hasn't been sleeping.

She hasn't exactly been getting her hours either. The nightmares are keeping her awake.

Winona, while dedicated to their father's hunt, doesn't pretend to remember their mother. All she knows comes from stories George told them, usually when he was very, very drunk. Stuff like Eva having her eyes, and Winona having her personality, and her love of mundane things like horror movies, long drives, and beaches. If it wasn't for the family photo in her wallet, she wouldn't even recognize Emily Cassidy if she saw her on the street.

The dreams—the persistent image of a pretty, brunette woman pinned to the ceiling and burning—are too congruent to what may have happened to Sam Winchester's girlfriend.

Eva side-eyes her carefully. They haven't really argued yet, but like hell is that going to lull them into a false sense of security. They both know this isn't going to last forever.

"You good?" She asks. She rolls down the window, despite it being pretty late in the afternoon, and the breeze stirs up the strands of hair that have escaped her ponytail. "You seem pretty stressed.”

"All things considered,” Winona responds. "I could say the same thing about you.”

"Hm. True enough.” Eva (for once), allows the subject to drop. A beat passes and her phone starts to buzz in her pocket, eliciting a groan as she digs it out and checks the caller ID.

The younger of the twins huffs, disappointed, so Winona guesses it's not Hanna with an update. To her surprise, she doesn't answer, and simply silences the device and puts it in her jacket pocket.

"Who was that?"

"Oh—my college roommates. They want to see how I'm doing, want to know when I'm coming back, etc. Kelli's definitely the most suspicious, though. I'm 90% certain that she thinks you're not really my sister, and have kidnapped me.”

At that, Winona can't help but laugh, because the least of their worries have always been random creeps. They can _handle_ random creeps. Pretty easily, in fact. But, Eva's civilian friends don't know that she skipped band practice to learn how to use throwing knives.

"No, she's right,” she agrees. "I'm actually an alien. I'm taking you to our leader so you can advocate for the earth and humankind. What's your verdict?"

Eva snickers and pretends to think about it for a minute. She taps a nervous rhythm on her knee and says, with an air of finality, "Eh, what the hell. Let it burn.”

There's a moment of silence that passes more comfortably than most of their other silences.

"Just out of curiosity,” she says, "What did you tell them? That you were going on an impromptu roadtrip with your estranged identical twin?"

"I'd hardly call this a roadtrip—and I didn't tell them that you were my _estranged_ twin. Just that you and I were going to meet up with our Dad, who's been going through a hard time, and needs some support. A family emergency-type deal.”

Winona nods, because that sounds like something a bunch of coffee-addicted stoners would believe, then frowns. "Wait, did you tell them that Dad was an addict?"

Eva snorts derisively, but there's a defensive edge to her tone now. She fidgets. "I may have dropped hints about alcohol, to make it more convincing, but I let them fill in the rest of the blanks themselves. No point in making my life more of a sob story than it already is.”

"Your life's not a _sob_ _story,_ genius. I don't know whether to be offended, or proud of your improvising skills. I'll settle with reasonably disturbed.”

"Yeah, you're right, my life's not a sob story. It's a horror story. If it makes you feel any better, I also told them that the family business was telemarketing, and that's why we moved around so much as kids.”

Winona grunts, diverting half of her attention to the lights she can spot in the distance. If it's someplace they can stop for the night, she'll jump for joy, no matter how embarrassing.

"Please tell me you didn't say I was a telemarketer too,” she says. "No offense, but that sounds like the most boring job in the world.”

Eva rolls her eyes (a _supreme_ eye roll, wow.) "No, I said you were traveling the country in the hopes of _finding yourself._ Happy?"

"I'll get there.”

The source of light finally comes into view, and true to her word, Winona nearly leaps out of her seat- because it's a bar, an honest-to-god bar, with more than a dozen cars parked out front. The neon sign reads, _Porky's_ _,_ and Eva makes a face when she sees it.

"Oh, no,” she moans. "Are we going in there?"

"I've been driving for, like, five hours. That's a yes.”

"You can't find anything less tacky?"

"I'm beginning to think college ruined you.”

Eva's expression is indignant, but she relents, which means that Winona has a point. She pulls Blue into a space between a large green truck, and a Harley Davidson that she maybe would've wanted to drive in high school. At this distance (about twenty feet from the door), there's the distinct thumping of trashy country music, and what (hopefully), is someone riding a mechanical bull.

"I'm good to drive if you get wasted,” Eva offers, in what is supposed to be a good-natured tone. She puts her hands in her pockets and matches Winona's stride.

"I'm not the lightweight in this relationship. You'll have to tell me specifically how you became a sorority chick.”

"I've built up my tolerance, thank you very much.”

"Great,” Winona says, grinning. "Then you can prove it.”

She steps into the bar and is instantly assaulted with the smell of peanuts, cheap beer, and sweat. The music is ten times louder now, and the group of men wearing cowboy hats and stomping their feet aren't helping. They yell and knock their drinks together during the chorus, spilling an impressive amount of alcohol on the table and themselves.

"Actually,” Eva muses, "This isn't so bad. It reminds me of my first frat party.”

Winona grabs her by the arm and pulls her to the bar, which is otherwise unoccupied, save for a couple of kids who must've snuck in with fake IDs.

The bartender, a burly man with a beard, smiles at them. His arms are probably as thick as Eva's waist, and his chest is about as wide as the counter itself.

"What can I get you ladies?" He asks. "Martinis?”

"Tequila shots,” Winona corrects. "I'm going for a world record, if you know what I mean.”

Eva looks entirely unamused, but she does down one of the glasses the bartender sets down in front of them. She doesn't flinch, either, which is just a little disappointing.

"I saw a poker game,” she says, gesturing with her head towards the back. "Maybe a dart board. I'm going to go brush up on my skills.”

Eva stands and walks away, shaking her head when Winona mouths, _hustle us some cash!_

Dammit. College really _has_ made her soft.

Winona does the shots one by one, watching the bartender's eyebrows crawl to his hairline as he becomes increasingly more impressed. She'd always been good at holding her liquor, but that made drinking to forget your problems a lot harder—and right now, there are things she could do without.

  1. The search for George Cassidy.
  2. No Winchesters.
  3. The fact that Eva's insurance policy for hunting was not a shotgun, but came in a cute little acceptance letter to Stanford University.



(But it was pointless to get upset, especially when Winona was the one who urged her to go.)

Winona finishes off the shots and pushes the empty glasses away. She grins with all her teeth and rocks back in the stool, sending the teenagers running.

"I'll have a beer now,” she says. "If it's not too much trouble.”

He gives her a timid salute and hands her a bottle of an obscure brand she's never heard of—but, Winona's never been one to refuse a drink, so she pops the cap and takes a sip.

She continues nursing the beverage as she scans the bar, searching for Eva, and locates her at a round table with a mixture of men and women. They seem to be mid-way through their poker game, and she hides a smirk when she sees the cash accumulating in front of her.

Winona is looking for the aforementioned dartboard to potentially have some fun with, when she looks at the mechanical bull in the center of the room. It looks like a thing of beauty, meaning, it could malfunction and kill you at any second. The mat surrounding it is smeared with what might be blood.

There's no sign of the person who was riding it when they came in, but another guy has stepped onto the plate, and he swings a leg over the bull with a sort of self-assuredness.

He's tall, and is wearing a leather jacket that looks vaguely familiar. His hair is either light brown or a dirty blonde, and it's gelled into spikes. At this distance, Winona can tell that he's handsome, but it's nothing she hasn't seen before in a dozen different bars.

"He came in earlier, with his brother,” the bartender grunts, when he notices her staring. "I'll bet thirty bucks he wipes out in five seconds.”

Winona hums noncommittally and studies the stranger for a second. "I'll bet a minute or longer. I win, I drink for free.”

He guffaws and extends his hand for her to shake. "Didn't peg you for a gambler. Deal."

"Pleasure doing business with you.”

They shake. An employee wearing boots and spurs whistles, drawing the attention of a few folks milling around, and presses a button outside the ring. With a creak of metal and an artificial _MOOOOOO!_ the bull starts to rock back and forth, gradually picking up speed until it spins in all kinds of directions.

The guy is enjoying himself, hardly phased by the motions, and he even holds on with one hand. A small gathering of single girls start whispering to one another and giggling, while Winona keeps her eyes on the prize the entire time.

(Her funds are depending on his victory, after all.)

The stranger clocks in at a little over two minutes when he finally falls off, eliciting a roar of approval from the customers. The bartender mumbles something under his breath, shocked, and doesn't stop Winona when she grabs her beer (and plucks the full bottle of whiskey out of his hand.)

"Thanks, pal,” she says, winking and making her way towards Eva. The brunette has to pass the bullpen on her way, and is just able to see the guy through the flock of women who've surrounded him.

Up close, Winona definitely recognizes him from somewhere. She's also pretty sure he's just someone she may have ran into in passing, and isn't a one-night stand.

His eyes, flicking from one girl to the next, settle on her as she walks by. His eyebrows furrow as though he shares the same feeling.

Winona ignores it and shakes the bottle of whiskey; a silent invitation for him to join her. He's prettier up close, too, and she wouldn't mind having company tonight. Between the two of them, one has to have a motel room in mind, or at least a suitable backseat.

The stranger takes the bait, and they end up not too far from the dartboard she originally had her sights on. There's a hint of something-or-other in his irises (bottle-green and as nice to look at as the rest of him), and Winona leans back against an unoccupied table and takes a long swig of her beer.

"Not bad on that bull,” she says. "You from around here?"

To her disappointment, he shakes his head. "Nah, we're just passing through.”

"Roadtrip?"

"Something like that. We stopped for some sight-seeing.”

Winona gets the feeling he's not telling the full truth, but the curve of his mouth is coy, and the foreplay is arguably the best part. "Yeah, I get that. What's the fun of hauling ass around the country if you can't check out the scenery? Seen anything you like so far?"

"As a matter of fact, I have.” His smile grows wider, and he's totally checking her out.

Winona's about to suggest they crack open the whiskey, when a taller man comes up behind her new friend. He's younger—about her and Eva's age, with a mess of brown hair and hazel eyes—and his face is pinched in annoyance.

"Dude,” he interjects, giving her an awkward, semi-polite glance. A _this doesn't involve you,_ look, which she would know. "What the hell are you doing?"

Handsome Stranger glares at the third party (it's at this point Winona remembers the bartender's mention of a brother), and asks, through clenched teeth, "What does it look like?"

"It _looks like_ you're picking up chicks,” he snaps, and tacks on what sounds like a sincere, "No offense,” in her direction.

Handsome Stranger is glancing back and forth between her and his presumed sibling, impatience increasing with every word. "Sam, we're allowed to have _fun_ once in a while—"

_Wait._

"Wait,” Winona says, aloud, their bickering drowning her out. The puzzle pieces have started to click inside her head, all at once, and it's not painting the most flattering picture. Neither of the boys look at her until she goes, " _Sam?_ "

The talking stops abruptly, and they both focus on her at the same time.

"Uh,” Tall Guy says, uncertainly. "Yeah?"

" _Sam_ ,” Winona repeats, disbelieving, and looks at Handsome Stranger. "Oh, god— _Dean?_ "

He blinks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, and then the realization hits him like a slap to the face. " _Winona?_ "

Sam looks at him, then at her, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Some of the previous hostility goes out of his shoulders, and his expression isn't "pleasantly surprised,” but it's better than before. "Wait, Winona? _Cassidy?_ "

"The one and only.” Winona doesn't look at Dean (she doesn't want to think about the last two minutes), and sets down the whiskey. She keeps the beer on hand, just in case. "What are you doing in Nebraska? There's not a case here, is there?"

"No—god, I haven't seen you since that case our dads dragged us on, back in '98.”

"Sure. The wraith. It's been a long time.”

Winona doesn't need a reminder. Back then, Sam and Eva had bonded over their hatred of the hunting lifestyle, and she remembers not being surprised when she heard of the younger Winchester's escape to California.

"Yeah, no kidding.” If he's thinking about the same thing, it doesn't show, but Dean seems to be swallowing his own tongue—but, that might be because of something else. "How've you been?"

"I've been better,” Winona says, because it's true. She hesitates, looks around to make sure they aren't being stared at, and dives right in. "Our dad's gone missing. It's been a few weeks, and we haven't found anything. Hanna—well, Hanna thinks he was hunting with John. This isn't how I pictured running into you both, but if you know where he is, that'd be a big help.”

There's a moment when Sam and Dean register her words, but the elder brother shakes his head, and her stomach drops to the pit of her shoes.

Of course, their only lead would fall through the cracks.

"Actually, funny you say that, because our dad's missing too,” he replies. "We don't know where he went, and we had no idea he was with someone. Are you sure Hanna's right?"

"Hanna's sharp. I'd take her word over another's any day.”

Sam seems to be pulled taut, like he's liable to snap. Now that he's not yelling at Dean, Winona can see how tired he looks.

"So, they're together,” he says. "That's...something.”

"It's weird, is what is.” Dean puts his hands in his pockets, and she places the jacket as an old one of John's. "Dad prefers to hunt alone. Even when he needed the back-up, getting help was like pulling teeth.”

"Mine’s the same way,” Winona grumbles. If she tried to count all the times she'd heard George getting into an argument with someone over needing assistance, she'd lose track. "It would need to be a special case. Something dangerous.”

Sam's eyes have gone dark. She's more than sure that they're all on the same page.

_Something personal._


End file.
